


MoonSong

by cyevi



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Human AU, Piracy, TPTH Vegebul Smutfest, canon inspired fantasy, corsets, tpth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyevi/pseuds/cyevi
Summary: Bulma, the daughter of a Marquess, is on her way to meet her betrothed. On the Undarum Ocean, her journey is interrupted by a rather particular pirate.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 20
Kudos: 62
Collections: TPTH Vegebul Smutfest





	1. A Change of Course

Bulma leaned against the edge of the ship, gazing at the undulating, dark blue waves below. Three weeks on the Undarum Ocean with another two to go before they made landfall at the desert continent of Sabaku. Her father had warned that this journey would be tiresome and may cause her to feel sick. But it was not the waves, barely rocking the ship to and fro each day which jostled her stomach. Instead, it was the inevitable meeting of her betrothed, the second prince of the Tufl Kingdom, fifteen years her senior. Her cheek slumped into her palm. More precisely, it was the dread of meeting him for the first time.

Bulma frowned and watched the froth gather along the barnacles stuck to the lower boards of the ship. The massive warship of Occiden, christened the H.M.S. Ventus and painted to recall the swift green winds beyond her kingdom's mountains, barely rocked against the continuous ocean waves. Three decks below, crewmen opened the secondary cannon ports as a part of their daily exercises. Breaking into the regular slosh of water against the hull, a sharp-voiced lieutenant barked loading orders. Above, clapping out of sync with the soldier's quarters, a dozen enormous sails lashed to the oak masts behind her beat against the wind as the ship pulled to the East.

“My Lord, the winds favor us again today.” The captain, an older man with a most ridiculous mustache and ostentatious powdered wig, lauded his crew's work once more to her father. It had become a daily pat on the back for him, and Bulma was convinced that the captain merely hoped to endear himself to her father, the Marquess of Okan, third in line to the Occiden throne, in hopes of becoming his next admiral.

The two stood at the helm, the captain in unnecessary regalia complete with a smattering of medals. In contrast, her father donned more appropriate clothes for the journey. In his solid periwinkle waistcoat and simple gray breeches, one might almost mistake him for a wealthy merchant instead of the King's most valued naval commander.

"Mm, indeed Captain Northcott,” the Marquess absently acknowledged while studying a custom compass attached to his waistcoat. Bulma studied her father with a soft smile. He was using the compass she had designed, a clever device that let the needle rest upon a bed of mercury in order to enhance its accuracy. Northcott tightened his shoulders at the dismissal. The captain glanced across the main deck, saw Bulma studying him, and frowned.

“If I may suggest, my Lord,” Northcott pressed for attention, “The Lady Bulma really shouldn't be on deck at midday. Undarum can be unpredictable and the sun is much too high for one with such fair skin. I shall have my clerk prepare her afternoon tea.”

Bulma turned away from the helm in a huff. Northcott was constantly shuffling her away from the upper decks and adamantly refused to allow her to watch the general maintenance and guidance of the warship. She knew it was retaliation against her refusal to accept his eldest son's courtship along with an unhealthy dose of hatred in general against women on his ship. The sailor's superstition had haunted her throughout the journey, with most of the soldiers refusing to even look her in the eye. Although Bulma was comfortable being on her own, mostly while working in her father's laboratory or tending exotic plants in her mother's garden, she had to admit that loneliness and isolation aboard this ship was beginning to gnaw at her heart.

_Today will be different, dammit._

Bulma gathered the silk drapings of her dress, bunching the embroidered white material into her fists. With a yank, she hefted the mantua above her ankles, revealing her ankle boots, tied smartly with a yellow lace. Pinning her back straight, she sucked in as large a breath as her corset allowed and marched toward the steps of the helm, ready to take down Northcott's awfulness once and for all.

“Yes, fine,” her father agreed with the same thoughtfulness he had given to Northcott. “Bulma dear? I'll join you for tea shortly.” He turned away from the main deck and directed his attention to the navigator with a new barrage of questions about the bittacle.

With one foot on the steps before her, Bulma's lips pursed. But when she saw Northcott's haughty smirk, her cheeks went red with fury.

“Clerk, please escort my Lady to her quarters. The Marquess will join shortly.” Northcott ordered and adjusted the stiff, ridiculous wig on his head.

The young man behind the captain snapped to attention, saluted and trotted down the steps, holding his hand out like an unpracticed servant holding a door.

Bulma spun in a huff, slapping the boy's hand away. She directed herself through the main doors of the upper deck and walked through the narrow hallways to the forecastle that held her quarters. Behind her, the captain's clerk rushed to keep up.

“Oh leave me be!” Bulma stomped her foot and waved her hand at him. “You're worse than the seabirds that nip at the fishing nets each morning!” Reaching her quarters, directly across from the captain's, she pushed through the door and slammed it in the clerk's face. Bulma sighed and stopped in front of a small desk by the window. The wind was quieter below deck, but the creaking of the warship unnerved her. Moreso, the stench of the lower quarters was unavoidable. She reached over the desk and unlatched the glass window, locking the pane back against the wall to let the ocean's breeze refresh the room.

With a rustle, the wind danced in and flicked at her hair. She was glad she had pinned her long tresses off her neck this morning. They must have been getting closer to the Eastern continent because each day had begun to feel more dry. Bulma ran her fingers along the ruffled, square neckline of her dress and sat down before the desk. Her father's scattered maps covered the surface, but had become bunched against a singular ink pot and quill, bolted securely to the corner. Her fingers flicked through the maps, seeking the only one that mattered anymore.

Shuffled five papers below, her eyes focused on the particularly ornate lettering for the map of the continent of Sabaku. She pulled the map to the top of the pile, and slid her palms across the parchment to flatten its curled edges.

“Kokkai, the imperial city. Home of the Tufl Empire.” Bulma spoke to herself, rehearsing the knowledge she would be expected to know by heart before marriage. Her fingers drifted over the ink drawing, tracing the lines of the continent. “Kita, the northern reaches, home to the priests of Yawa. Minami, the great southern farms. Shinrin, the commerce port.”

Bulma paused and leaned closer to the desk. Something was odd about the map. Across the Easternmost reaches of the Wasteland, the ink had been smudged, waterlogged, and removed. But the evidence remained. Something had been written on the map. She closed her eyes and searched her memory for the name of an Eastern town on the Sabaku continent. Her tutor's scratchy voice itched her brain.

“Stations! To your Stations at once!” The captain and several lieutenants shouted throughout the ship with such terror that Bulma almost fell from her chair. Below deck, someone was clanging the cannon bell and she could hear the cannon shutters slapping open, and the heavy guns being shoved into firing positions. She jumped and peered out the window.

Slicing through the waves, a ship, not half the size of the Ventus came barreling toward them. Likely a sloop, or maybe a schooner, the sails were locked at an angle as it skipped across the ocean with ferocious speed. Atop the mizzenmast, Bulma saw the true source of the panic. A black sail with a crescent moon.

_Pirates!_


	2. Loose Cannon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pirate of the Smutfest finally continues with day 2 "The Control Center" (applied with some liberal interpretation 😁 )

Before she could even reach the door of her cabin, she heard a lock clank into place.

“Boy! Let me out of here!” Bulma pounded her fists against the only exit, though she knew it was too late. The clerk had trapped her inside, thinking it to be the safest option. “Idiot! If we capsize, I'll sink into the depths with the hull!” Refusing to give up, the heiress spun and studied the room for options.

–

Atop the quarterdeck, the Captain paused his brown-nosing long enough to shout orders to his lieutenants. The crew scrambled to shift the sails and turn the massive ship into the oncoming aggressor.

“Grab that wheel and turn! I don't care if you break the tiller,” Captain Northcott blustered. “Hard to starboard before they get into cannon range!”

Above the Captain and Marquess, sailors shimmied along the masts, shouting at one another while desperately trying to unfurl the stunsails.

“I say Northcott,” the Marquess remarked while staring across the waves to the oncoming schooner, “she seems to be flying across the waters. Quite the sheer on her! His Majesty's tug can't possibly out maneuver that ship. How about flying up the white sail and ending this without damage? I'll handle the lads and negotiate a quick release on behalf of Occiden.” Bulma's father twirled his mustache absently, but otherwise appeared calm.

Huffing, the captain marched down to the wheel and barked at his lieutenants again. “Beat to quarters!Second and third deck cannons ready. I want double volleys, no more than sixty seconds apart! And get those jibs taut!”

“Aye sir! Beat to quarters! Second and Third cannons—ready the line! Double volleys!” The orders echoed across the top deck, then through the bowels of the upper decks. Below, a dozen more cannon doors slapped open and the ship rumbled with activity.

The immense length of the H.M.S. Ventus gradually began to turn her bow toward the approaching schooner, smacking waves against her broadside. Everyone on the command deck received a midday shower while the sailors closer to the cables slid across the well-tarred planks. An extraordinarily loud slap cut of communication along the bridge as another hoisted sail grabbed onto the wind and yanked the boat harder to the right.

“Captain,” the Marquess insisted while wiping his face of seawater, “your advancement is a folly. Stow the guns and run up a white flag.”

“My Lord, those are pirates! They will NOT negotiate. I don't know what kind of fluff your other captains have been reporting to you, but as we're so close to the coast of Sabaku, we must fight!”

“Enough, Captain!” The Marquess straightened his spine and looked directly at the flustered commander for the first time of the day. “Rescind your orders so that you do not destroy His Majesty's warship and her crew on account of your personal desire for a promotion!”

“Captain, guns loaded and ready!” A rather serious, but soaked lieutenant tapped his cocked-hat in salute and paused at the top of the command deck steps awaiting further orders. Northcott managed to open his mouth, but the Marquess spoke first.

“Stow the guns lad.”

“Lieutenant! Escort the Marquess to his quarters, immediately, and have a pair of marines keep guard over his room.”

“Aye sir! You Marines there! Two by port, to me!” The young Lieutenant Halsey, to his credit, barely blinked his surprise at the mix of orders before following the word of his captain. Try as he might to hide his pride, Northcott's lips curled with pleasure.

“My Lord, we will discuss your strategies further when His Majesty's ship and crew are no longer in danger!” With that, two marines dressed smartly in bright green uniforms with silver buttons grabbed Bulma's father by the arm and briskly took him below.

By the time the Marquess was off the command deck, the approaching schooner was close enough to see that her cannon doors were open. However, the oncoming vessel was slicing abruptly to her port side, placing the H.M.S. Ventus' stern directly in line with a row of lit cannons.

“Captain!”

“I see it, Mr. Halsey! Fire top deck as soon as she's in range!” Northcott readjusted his soaked wig and tricorn hat. “It will be a cold day in Hell before I let an Occiden warship surrender to a batch of filthy mudsticks.”

–

“That blusterwart! He's already lost control of the center and is going to get our stern blown clear off!” Bulma backed away from the window and grabbed the letter knife on the desk. Before she could reach the cabin door to jimmy the lock, a Marine opened it and shoved the Marquess inside.

“Father!” Bulma dropped the knife and caught her stumbling father.

“Just stay put, My Lord. Captain Northcott is well familiar with these types of sea rats. Nothing to worry about!” Both marines offered a salute coupled with a lazy bow of the shoulders before shutting and locking the door.

“Father, we must get out of our cabin! The stern is the weakest part and that fool of a captain has put us right into those guns!” Bulma scooped up the letter knife and made for the door.

“Yes, my dear, but the lock is on the outside of our door. What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Gather your maps, Father. I'll have us out in a moment.” Bulma shoved the knife against one of the hinges of the door, wedging it between the pin and barrel. With a spin, she picked up a small, metal drinking flask and smashed it against the base of the knife.

A flash of light and rush of air engulfed Bulma, flinging her against the door. She dropped to the floor and grabbed her head, blinking. The world around her was muffled and difficult to see. Looking up, she saw the door listed into the hallway, successfully free of its hinges but only because the hinges were gone, along with several feet of wall.

_Father!_

Finally recognizing the cannon shot for what it was, she turned, praying to the Gods that she would see no blood. The starboard wall had exploded inward, crashing through the cabin's desk. A pile of shattered planking shifted like a wooden avalanche, splinters and smoldering bits sliding toward the floor. Beneath the wreckage, Bulma thought she could hear her father groan. Successive cannon blasts from both ships, shouts from practiced sailors, curses from the boarding pirates, and volleys of continuous gunshots dampened her own shout.

“No, no!” Bulma scrambled back to her feet, shoving her voluminous dress out of the way and rushed to the wreckage. Paying no heed to her own injuries, she tore into the debris, shoving the splintered, burning mess off his body as fast as she could.

“Well, well! Looks like I just caught m'self a fine, fine prize!” The raspy male voice caused Bulma's breath to hitch. Without turning, she gripped firmly onto a large plank with both hands. “Now lass, you'll be comin' with me. Can't be wastin' that fine, … incredibly fine booty on Davy Jones' Locker.”

She heard heavy, wet footfalls clomp toward her, but she also caught a whiff of his rum-soaked, grimy flesh. Stealing herself, she braced a foot and spun as hard as she could, swinging the broken plank in a circle. It crashed into the man's chest, forcing him back several steps with a scream. As he fell, he grabbed Bulma's wrist and yanked her toward him.

“Release me, brute!” Bulma screeched and twisted her body madly, yanking away from the giant pirate. The massive man had the wildest, longest hair she'd ever seen falling well past his hips, poking out in every direction, and barely contained by a black bandanna with a moon across his brow. It was bad enough she couldn't reach her father, but the man's crude leer along with his stench, exacerbated by his lack of shirt brought a wave of nausea and panic she couldn't tamp down. In a rage, desperate to check her father's status, she raked her free hand across his face.

“Augh! Salty bitch!” His massive free hand crashed across her cheek. The last thing Bulma saw on the H.M.S. Ventus was her father's foot, unmoving, beneath the debris.

–

“Her? You've only your rum to blame for your face then, Raditz.” A low, methodical male voice stirred Bulma from a foggy slumber. As her body naturally began to wake, half her body soaked with seawater. She blinked slowly, confused by the darkness in front of her.

“She's feisty, Captain! Might look the size of a lamb, but she's got devil's fire in her.” Raditz grumbled. “Hoay .. she's listenin' now.”

Bulma's eyes finally adjusted to the barely lit conditions of the ship. Two tiny windows far away from her let the only light into the deck. Where it hit revealed a maze of metal holdings, bilge hoops on barrels, and the bars of her cell. Her best guess told her this was a cargo hold. A slosh of water spit in her face as the ship swayed. Spitting, she sat herself up and looked upon her captors clearly.

The massive man on the left, Raditz, was instantly familiar both by his hair and his rum-soaked stench. The shorter man on the right, however, caused her heart to skip. He looked upon her as a cat may a mouse. Compared to the unkempt, slouching pirate next to him, the captain stood with an unusually tight posture. Like his subordinate, he wore a black bandanna with a crescent moon, but the similarities ended there.

The man was clean. Not a smear or speck of dirt, gunpowder, or even blood to be found across his form. His hair rose in neat, high black spikes, which Bulma imagined would have been difficult to wear a hat upon. A dark, hip length blue jerkin, buttoned smartly along his trim torso contrasted with the billowing white sleeves on his arms. Slung low across his narrow hips were two wide worn leather belts. The first held a sword and two daggers, while the second holstered a thick pistol. Dark yellow breeches hugged his surprisingly muscular thighs, and even his boots had buckles that looked recently shined.

Confused by the wildly difference in class, Bulma looked back at Raditz with his worn, open vest, striped breeches, and bare feet. Noticing her attention, Raditz leaned one arm against the cell wall and grinned lasciviously while returning the favor with an extended examination of her figure.

“Aye lass, you can 'ave a piece of Raditz if you play nice now.” Raditz laughed and rocked his hips toward the cell. Bulma sneered and stood up, squeezing some of the water from her heavy dress.

“Oh I'll take a piece of you. With your Captain's knife.” Bulma spat the threat at the rouge. “You will release me at once unless you intend to bring my entire kingdom's wrath upon your sorry ship!”

“And what kingdom might that be?” The Captain crossed his arms and Bulma thought she detected a smirk across his otherwise dour expression. Standing as straight as she could in her waterlogged gown, she spoke with all the authority of a representative of the royal court.

“The Most Peaceful, Keepers of the Golden Cities of Enlightenment. The Western Empire of Occiden. My father is the Marquess of Okan, third in line to the throne.” As she lectured her captors, she marched up to the bars of the cell and grabbed at the lock on the door. “Further more, you have abducted none other than the betrothed of the Second Prince of the Tufl Kingdom! With my marriage, the two kingdoms will unite to create the greatest peace the world has ever known. Continuing to hold me only heralds the doom of your kind, you cur!”

Raditz sucked in his breath, and she was certain that the threat of the two most powerful kingdoms hunting this ship down had taken the wind from his sails. Bulma smirked at the unkempt pirate, but gasped when her throat was suddenly gripped by the Captain's hand.

“Peace?!” The Captain growled and crushed her windpipe with such pressure that Bulma gagged.

“With the Tufls!?” He turned his darkening scowl from his prisoner, to his subordinate. “I'll blow Every. Last. One. Of those backstabbing Tuflanders out of the ocean before I let them _pretend_ to be a nation of peace! Raditz! Get that filthy Occidenizen Captain ready for a keel haul. I want to know where My Lady's ally ships are before the forenoon watch.”

Bulma's knees threatened to buckle as she gasped for air. He returned his eyes to hers and scrutinized her face. Shivers gathered in her stomach, but whether from fear or something else she could not say. His clean cut face blurred behind a gathering of tears as her desperation rose.

“Aye Vegeta!” Raditz straightened, gave a rather tight salute and ran out of the cargo hold, passing commands to the rest of the crew.

Desperate for a breath, Bulma shot one arm through the cell bars and scratched her nails down Vegeta's face. In response, he yanked her against the bars of the cell, slamming her forehead and shoulders against the irons before tossing her away. He placed one hand over his sliced cheek and scoffed at the woman now crumpled on the soaked floor.

“Ah, there you see? The oh-so peaceful Occidenizen _princess_ reveals her true self.” Vegeta pulled his hand from his face, showed Bulma the small streaks of blood, then leaned close to the door. “After I take care of your worthless Captain, you're next.”

With a scowl, Vegeta licked his fingers and exited the cargo hold.

–

Top deck, Captain Northcott was a blubbering mess. Having been dragged beneath the hull of the pirate's ship for a cable's length, his uniform was now shredded on the back by jagged barnacles missed from the last cleaning. And although he had been out of the water for a good five minutes, he continued gasping like a landlocked fish, likely to cover up his blubbering sobs.

“So much for _His Majesty's Finest_ ,” Nappa jabbed and gave the waterlogged prisoner a kick. The massive, bald Quartermaster turned to his Captain and crossed his arms. “The _Captain_ here, and I use that term lightly, tells us that there are two more ships, same course, about a day's sail ahead of us on their way to Kokkai, by way of Shinrin port. Good chance they've got a few dignitaries too, and ripe decent prizes.”

“Bardock,” Vegeta barked back at his sailing master at the wheel, “Stern to windward and push us through the night. Lay straight and haul through any tides. I want those ships by dawn.”

From atop the pilot's deck, the lean man dressed most similarly to his captain, with tight fitting briefs, a billowed sleeve shirt and a pair of belts, tapped his fist to the side of his narrow, red moon-crested bandanna and spun the wheel to the right. Immediately the boat curved into a wave and the wind caught the sails with multiple loud snaps. Nappa turned back to the mishmash crew of pirates on deck, a few of which awaited orders on the masts and rigging.

“Tighten those clews and cringles! You heard the Captain. There's prize to be found at sun's rise!” The Quartermaster's voice boomed orders across the length of the deck and in response, the crew cheered and set to task more orderly than might be expected of a ship of pirates.

Vegeta walked up to the pilot's deck and leaned against the rail. Beside him, Bardock held the rudder steady and watched his captain's mood darken. The pilot shifted his weight and returned his gaze to the ocean ahead.

“I don't want to hear it, Bardock,” Vegeta cut off his argumentative pilot before he could gather a full breath. “They're going to try and make _peace_ with those forsaken Tuflanders. Peace!” Vegeta tightened his grip on the railing, crushing the lacquered wood beneath his fingers.

“You know we'll follow your orders, Vegeta,” Bardock reassured the captain, but pressed on in a low voice. “But the past is the past. It's done and no amount of prize will bring ...”

“ENOUGH,” Vegeta roared and ripped off a chunk of wood. “This _will_ be done.” With that, he crunched the wood chunk in his fist and tossed the remains off the side of the deck.

“Raditz!”

Shimming down the mast, the wild-haired pirate gave a fast salute as his feet hit the deck.

“Aye Captain?”

“Toss that waste of rations into the lower brig with the most rats. Maybe we can get a bit of ransom off him yet.” Vegeta nodded to the broken Northcott and Raditz grabbed the prisoner by his scruff. “And lock that woman with chains. I suspect the betrothed of a Tuflander prince will have information worth … discovering.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay! Of course everyone's lives have been turned upside-down now so I hope each an every one of you are keeping safe. From chapter 1 to chapter 2, I've spent a jolly amount of time revisiting nautical and pirate stories. Of course I rewatched the travails of C'pn Jack Sparrow, but also fell back in love with the amazing movie "Master and Commander: Far Side of the World" with Russell Crowe. If you like fussy Britishisms, classical music, and the ocean, it's a must watch and was a strong inspiration for Bulma's world. The author of the original series, Patrick O'Brian wrote a stunning 21 book series about Captain Jack Aubrey. His ability to capture a world from the past in words is stunning and I absolutely have not done historical writing justice with this chapter. But do check out his first book "Master and Commander" if you have a thing for historical fiction.

**Author's Note:**

> TPTH Smutfest 2020: Galactic Affairs. #day1thestation.
> 
> I have to admit, these prompts were not my best friend. I've written lots of space themed tidbits, and have a major one in the works, so I really resisted going straight with the theme. Don't expect my take on the prompts to be terribly literal, but I do promise that each chapter will honor them in some way! The final idea for this story hit me at the 11th hour, so I just started writing the story on the first day of the fest. Errors are probably going to happen. Feel free to point them out or DM me on one of the discords! Critical feedback always welcome :)
> 
> As always, be sure to check out the stories by other authors!


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